Green Eyes
by macgyvershe
Summary: AU One Shot. I am not a Sherlloy shipper, but many of my readers are. This is for them. Is Sherlock suffering from the Green Eyed monster? Many thanks to KatMath who's beta work made this a better story. I constantly change the story each time I proof. So any errors are totally mine.


**Green Eyes**

A recent disaster had befallen the city of London, and Molly had shown unbelievable people and organizational skills during that time. The gas explosion and flash fire which followed it had been a human tragedy. The morgue normally wasn't a hot bed of activity so the onslaught and challenge of multiple dead to be identified and dispersed to the proper family members and mortuaries could have been another disaster. But Molly had been on top of everything all along the way. John Watson had seen a 'take charge, no bullshit accepted and we are getting this done properly attitude' from Molly which was frankly out of character for her. Or was it? Her expertise in her chosen profession was undeniable. She was the mistress of her world, it was then that John had an idea. After the end of the crisis he took the opportunity to drop into her tiny office and give her the 'talk'.

John began. "Molly I was extremely impressed with your abilities in handling the Simonington Tower explosion and its aftermath."

"It had to be done." Molly flushed a bit but held her head high at her well deserved praise.

"Yeah, but this was a high stress situation and you handled everything in a professional and extremely sensitive manner for the families involved," John interjected.

"Thanks John, I appreciate your taking the time to tell me that." Molly beamed.

She is so lovely, so strong and brave and such a catch. Sherlock is such an idiot for not seeing and not believing in this fantastic woman John thought.

"I know that you've had a crush on Sherlock, have been crushing on him for years. I know that he uses your feelings for him‒‒a lot. He's this genius detective to everyone, blustering his way onto crime scenes and taking charge but there is one thing you don't know. In point of fact you have as much experience, expertise and take charge attitude as he does, what you've just displayed today gives you a great advantage. He'll never see you coming if you take charge. All you have to do is apply the talents you already have," John said with total empathy.

"You really think so John?" Molly was really wrong footed with this new information. "I've never thought of being forceful with him. He's all bluster and brilliance and I just feel like I can't talk or say anything useful around him."

"I think he's never let anyone get close enough to him before Molly. It's his way of protecting that genius brain and that tender heart. He does have a heart Molly and I think you need to get in your attitude tank and run over him a couple of times and he'd give it to you. He has changed since he has come back. He's mellowed and he's taking on some human and humane qualities that were all but hidden before."

"Yes, I've noticed that he's different." She looked at John with renewed interest. "You think I can do this?"

"Molly if you can stand up to policemen, fire fighters, indignant doctors and demanding morticians—then you can take on a consulting detective who is shite for brains when it comes to relationships. You totally can do this."

John saw something inside Molly click. She sat up and squared her shoulders. The confidence he observed in her was radiating like a super nova. She was everything that Sherlock could hope for: someone who shared his love of dead things, of solving murder mysteries and who wouldn't mind if he stayed out late at the morgue or working a crime scene as she could totally relate to why he was there. It was all good.

(-_-)

John continued his 'pep talks' to Molly, giving her his insight into the enigma that was Sherlock Holmes. "I think you can totally overwhelm him with your authoritarian attitude. He's not an easy push over, but dear, once you've got a head of steam going I've seen you roll over a hoard of men all on the same day. Sherlock is just one man. And I know he has put you down on more than one occasion with his talking about your lips and breasts and its all garbage. If he hadn't noticed your features what would he have to talk about? He has an off handed way of saying that he notices you, but he does notice. How many other women has he 'noticed'?

Molly thought about it and it was true. She'd never heard him talk about another woman like that, not even The Woman. Slowly as John's encouragements continued, Molly made up her mind to do what she knew she could do. She wanted Sherlock to not only notice her, but to also appreciate her for the strong and intelligent woman she was.

(-_-)

The first assault came in the morgue. John was Molly's wing man and as Sherlock sat at a table analyzing several dozen slides of fixed pollen stains, she made her move.

"Sherlock." Molly was standing to his left and her voice had that commanding tone. Her whiskey brown eyes large, intense and so full of life were staring at him.

"Hummm…"

"Sherlock, I'm taking you on a date." She turned him toward her with one hand and pushed the microscope away from him with the other.

"Molly," Sherlock said in an annoyed tone. Then he looked at her, really looked at her. She was not wearing make – up or lipstick. Her hair was pulled back from her face as it normally was, but there was a steeliness in her gaze. There was an 'I – will – brook – no – bull – shit' in her stance and by god, Mister Holmes was suddenly very much interested in the tiny, fragile, easily overlooked Molly as he saw her in a totally new way. She was masterful. She was magnificent and what was that word that John used to describe his many, many women?Dishy?

Sherlock found himself nodding in agreement. Surprise – surprise!

(-_-)

THE DATE was a rather different affair. Sherlock didn't like to eat and Molly was a this fantastic cook. So Molly invited Sherlock and John (wing man, remember) to her house. John and Sherlock entered her home and a wall of cooking aromas assailed them at the door. Molly was wearing comfortable clothes that brought out the best in her petite form as she ushered everyone into her large kitchen. Apple pie and fresh from the oven scones, cookies, biscuits and everything a reluctant eater might think that they could possibly pass up was laid out on every inch of counter space.

"Tea or coffee, or would you like milk, skim, whole or almond?" Molly smiled brightly.

John immediately perched on one of the stools at the counter and poured himself a cuppa adding a bit of milk and taking a large slice of still warm apple pie from Molly. He was in love. No doubt about it. He'd marry her right there, right now.

Sherlock meekly straddled a stool next to John and kept looking from Molly to all the goodies.

"Hard to decide?" Molly grinned. "How about one of each?" Sherlock looked like he had died and gone to dessert heaven. He accepted a cup of coffee as Molly handed him a huge platter filled with goodies. She even make homemade Banoffee pie. Sherlock's eyes were so wide you could drive a police car through them.

Having eaten their way through a large swath of pastries, pies and anything else Molly had made, they sat around the kitchen table and talked companionably about recent cases. They also talked about the change in policy among the Yarders concerning some evidence procedurals and when it was time to go home, John kissed Molly on the cheek and stepped outside to hail a cab with his mobile. Molly stood close to Sherlock and grabbed his lapels. She pulled the berk down to her level and planted a passionate kiss on his soft, damn they were soft for a bloke, lips.

"Thanks for coming Sherlock. I hope you had a good time. I know I did."

Wrong footed by the progressive kiss, Sherlock wasn't one to be wrong footed for long. Taking Molly into his all encompassing embrace, he planted a long, lingering and shall we say 'full of tongue' kiss on her.

"Oh." Molly said with a smile. "Wonderful," she purred into his mouth.

Sherlock purred back. John actually had to clear his throat a bit and ask Sherlock if he is going to take the cab back to Baker Street with him.

"Later." Sherlock snapped as he kicked the door closed on John.

"Yeah, Team Molly." John said to himself and jumped into the cab to may his way home by himself.

(-_-)

Molly and Sherlock had been an item for some time now, and John was supremely smug about it all. John was thrilled that Molly had finally taken the bull or in this case the consulting defective bull by the horns and yanked him into the reality that she was the woman of his dreams. John highly approved of the union, deeming this was a match made in hormonal heaven. Once Molly kick-started Sherlock's libido, it had been hard to keep him from humping the furniture. John also found this extremely hilarious and entertaining.

Sherlock suffered in silence and was suitably love struck. Never having experienced love in any of its many forms. John had to explain about spiritual love, puppy love, brotherly love (that was never going to happen), tough love, love of country, maternal love (did that even happen), paternal love (ditto), infatuation, romantic love, unconditional love. John ran out loves to enumerate and Sherlock was suitably stunned by the amount of incoming data that was not his area.

The long and short of it was that Molly and Sherlock were happy. Everyone who knew them was happy for them and the alignment of everything in all known universes was happy and joy. Engagement ensued. It is all good. Until something very boring and random and completely innocent turned into the biggest ball of upset and misunderstanding that the small island of Great Britain had ever experienced.

(-_-)

It began like this, Molly and Lestrade were in the morgue, and Sherlock could see them both from the observation windows as he approached the glass wall. Sherlock was observing their body language and thought it bit odd: they were close, almost conspiratorial. Then they leaned in and Lestrade's hand touched Molly's. Was he passing her something? They parted, giggling briefly as John entered the room and smiled broadly. Then he came over touched Molly too. John!

No, not John, Sherlock thought. The three came together and turned away from the glass so that Sherlock could not lip read what they were saying. They were all looking at something that John had brought in. Sherlock could feel his heart rate escalate, feel his heart (yes, he could feel that newly formed organ) clench in shocked surprise. What the hell is going on_, _he thought?

Sherlock took the few stairs down to the morgue; he opened the door and he stepped in and as soon as they realized he was there, everyone turned to look at him with wide eyes. Then click they were all totally unreadable. Shite.

Sherlock stepped over and moved Molly away from his 'friends.' When he turned back there was a look of possessiveness on his face.

"John what do you have in your hand?" Sherlock asked as he examined everyone in the room including the cadaver on the stainless steel table, which appeared to be a part of the overall deception.

Neither Lestrade nor John had anything in their hands and Molly was holding a clip board that she was busy writing on. Sherlock knew what he knew. Turning to Molly he started deducing.

"Is there something that everyone is trying to hide from me?"

"Sherlock," John didn't approach but furrowed his already furrowed brow and sighed deeply. "Why are you accusing us of something? We were discussing the outcome of your last case. You'll have to admit, it was a real cracker."

"Sherlock," Molly said in a calm, soothing voice.

(-_-)

The way she said his name, the tonal quality, the inhalation, the decibel quaver whisked Sherlock away to a moment in time that was seared onto the walls of his Mind Palace. Molly had called earlier and spoken to John saying that she would be over that evening to deliver some autopsy photos that Sherlock requested, so she was expected. She'd come in bundled up from the cold, rainy night and John had graciously helped her remove her coat. Underneath she wore an off – the – shoulder green silk dress that hugged her dainty form flawlessly. There was nothing left to the imagination because there was literally nothing under that silk dress. Her long hair was tamed in to swells and flows around her face like dark clouds making way for the sunlight. She was a vision.

John smiled approvingly. "I'm going over to Lestrade's," he said to Sherlock's open bedroom door. "We're having a James Bond marathon night. So I won't be back till tomorrow." John winked at Molly. She smelled like apricots, one of Sherlock's favorite fruits. She looked and smelled good enough to eat and John thought that Sherlock was truly a lucky bastard to have a woman like Molly find him attractive. John gave her a tiny salute. His military bearing made her feel warm inside. He had every confidence in her and finally he smiled broadly and gave her a brotherly peck upon her cheek. "Go for him!" He whispered in her ear as Sherlock came out of his bedroom to pluck the manila folder from Molly's hands.

It didn't happen. Molly's grip on the folder was quite unexpectedly strong. Sherlock went for the folder again and then finally noticed the actual beautiful woman holding the folder. Molly was seductively smiling with her too small lips and her tiny thrusting breasts were all aimed at Sherlock. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

"No date tonight, Molly." He could deduce that much. She kicked off her kitten heels and flung the folder onto the couch where it landed with a splat. She was so very small now as she advanced on him. She was so very tiny and fragile and her eyes were a whiskey brown that shone and glittered as she came right up to him and grabbed the lapels of his suit. She yanked him down into a kiss that devoured him in her hot wet heat. Sherlock closed his eyes and he was lost.

Molly took her courage in her hands and backed Sherlock against his living room wall and said point blank. "Sherlock I want to give you something."

"What is that?" Sherlock asked.

"I want to give you me." She wrapped her strong arms around him and pulled him down into the second smoldering kiss the great consulting detective found even more mind blowing than the first.

"Molly, I …"

She silenced him once more with a kiss that made the first two look like vanilla ice cream next to baked Alaska. What was she doing to him? Her body pressed so tight, the scent of her laundry detergent, her shampoo, her blossoming sex, apricots, her taste, the warm desire of her mouth was overpowering his. Her strength. How was it she was so strong that Sherlock felt overwhelmed and completely taken? No one took Sherlock Holmes. Well apparently, Molly Hooper did!

Molly nudged him none too gently as she aimed for Sherlock's bedroom.

"Wait, what?" Sherlock was blushing pink, the tips of his ears and those haughty high cheekbones were changing the same color. Sherlock could feel himself becoming aroused. It was painful, it was strange and it was so very alien, he let out a long breath and suddenly his head was spinning and his heart wouldn't stop beating so hard.

They were in the bedroom now and Molly was plucking at Sherlock's clothes. She was unfastening buttons and sliding his suit jacket down. He went to help her and she brushed his hands away.

"Sherlock Holmes I have damn well fantasized about this for years and I'm not going to let anyone, including you, spoil this. Shoes off," she commanded as she removed his shirt and ran her small hands down his expansive chest. Suddenly, Sherlock shuddered and his body betrayed him in its struggle to get more of these new and fabulous sensations on record. He took her hands and placed them again on his chest as he leaned in for one more dazzling, delirious kiss.

Her eyes, her whiskey colored eyes were intoxicating, holding his gaze effortlessly with their calm, electrifying presence. For so many years she'd turned away at his gaze, turning pink at his constant glare. Now those eyes wouldn't blink, wouldn't move as her knowledgeable hands ran over his trembling body. How was she doing this to him?

With a sudden yank—like the magician pulling the table cloth from under the special china – Molly had Sherlock's pants and trousers at his ankles. She pushed him onto the bed. He came up on his elbows as Molly began to disrobe. Sherlock gulped air like a gold fish out of his bowl. Her auburn hair was set free from the band that held it. The long strands encompassed her beatific face, traveling down to her alabaster shoulders. Her dress slipped from her body to reveal her nakedness. Her body was not encumbered by undergarments. Her small breasts that Sherlock had always diminished were perky and taut with arousal. The nipples swollen and demanded attention. Sherlock moved his eyes to their temptation and his mouth watered.

Sherlock's eyes moved further to the neat triangular patch of nether hair that adorned her inner mystery. Molly crawled upon Sherlock's lap. Her mouth sought his and her kisses resumed, becoming more demanding and captivating than any Sherlock might have imagined. Sherlock's brain disengaged as his body's demands for blood and oxygen overrode brain function.

Molly began to undulate while still devouring his mouth; her hot lips sucking and biting his now swollen and red lips. It was then that her nether lips parted as her hot interior slid over Sherlock's cock. Pressure, slip and slide of hotness over straining cock, her mouth exploring Sherlock as if he belonged to only her. The sensation, the overpowering scent of her sex, the mastery of this woman who knew so much more than he did about what they were doing; hotter, harder. Sherlock's orgasm lifted Molly high above the bed as his body arched and he screamed his first 'Molly inspired' release. And lucky for him he was in bed because Sherlock passed out for 64.7 seconds.

When his senses finally returned, Molly was still lying upon his body, both their hearts beating wildly. She smiled like the cat that not only swallowed the canary, but had the keys to any and all future canary cages.

"Molly‒," he stuttered, "fuck‒me." Was that a statement or a bewildered request? He shuddered physically as his Mind Palace replayed the last two minutes in his head.

"Again?" She asked politely. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

(-_-)

Molly gripped Sherlock's arm because in real time Sherlock has only been gone a nano second. His Mind Palace had replayed that night for him as it did over and over again whenever Molly said his name in that loving intonation she'd used, that breathy, brilliantly bold and just a tiny bit hungry voice.

To say that Sherlock was distracted was a monumental understatement. Sherlock was derailed, wrecked and totally overrun by this woman at his side.

"Forgive me Molly, everyone. I think I need to sit down."

Concerned John rushed a stool over to Sherlock and everyone turned their attention to his sudden change in behavior. It was a simple ploy that Sherlock had learned to use in situations like this; a magic trick, display and re-direct. It gave him time to think and to begin his research. There was something going on and these three were at the heart of it. Could Molly be conspiring with John and Greg? Sherlock would find out, of course he would. That's what he did, what he always did.

(-_-)

John and Lestrade left Sherlock in Molly's good hands. They gave him some Quavers to eat. Low blood sugar appeared to be the culprit.

"You think he's guessed?" Lestrade asked.

"I have no idea. We're going to have to be much more circumspect about this whole thing." John ventured as they moved toward the D.I.'s office.

"I could arrest him and keep him locked up for the next two days," Lestrade offered.

"On what charges," John huffed, "being an obnoxious – genius – level – git?"

"Maybe thinking at light speed, I think that's a crime somewhere in the universe." Lestrade smiled and they both laughed as they went their separate ways. Everything had to come together in two days. There was no turning back now, it was literally do or dive into the pit of spoiled surprises.

(-_-)

Molly was clucking over Sherlock and he, very politely, was allowing her to. He was a changed man since his return from the dead. He appreciated his friends so much more than he once had. He said long ago that he only had one friend. And John was still his very best friend, but there were many, many more now. But Molly was his one and only lover.

Was there a conspiracy here? There was something going on that they were trying to hide from him. Lestrade and John? Two people in his life that he thought could never cross him, never betray him. Could they be courting Molly? No. That would make no sense. What possible reason would have them 'act' so perfectly all at the same time? Act as if nothing was happening. They weren't good actors, none of the lot. So how could they do that? How?

"Sherlock, I've made a nice dinner for tonight. I'll bring it over to Baker Street."

Molly was a great cook. She learned from her mum who was a world renowned chef. She had also taken classes, gourmet and ethnic cooking. So just thinking about 'Molly and cooking' made Sherlock's stomach sit up and growl its great distress at not being fed immediately. And, of course, John is a lover of home cooked meals. He would travel vast distances if you fed him up on the very best. John was so easy.

Sherlock assessed the facts: When he came into the room, everyone was blank, so very blank. That last bit was the most damning. This lot couldn't act their way out of a wet fish wrapper. Molly, everything seemed to track back to Molly, his love and his life. Suddenly and with wild abandon Sherlock's deductive mind skidded off track and veered into the mire and muddy valley of insecurity, fear, and anxiety. Was Molly doing something with Lestrade and John? No. He couldn't think that way. Molly loved him. She loved him. Didn't she?

(-_-)

Molly was at 221B busy in the kitchen talking over her shoulder at John who was companionably laughing at her jokes and taking deep drags of the wonderful smells coming from the cooking. He was sipping on a glass of wine and checked his watch again.

He pulled out his mobile.

Where the hell are you? Dinner almost done. JW

Start without me. SH

Dinner progressed, sadly, without him. John and Molly amicably enjoyed the praise worthy meal and were having coffee and fruit tarts that were sinfully delicious when a disheveled Sherlock Holmes entered into the flat. His eyes were those of a wounded animal. Had he been hurt?

"Sherlock," Molly and John jumped to their feet and spoke his name in unison.

Silently he looked at them then turned and moved toward his bed room.

"Molly, you best let me see if I can sort this out. No need to get us both yelled at." John smoothed his hand down Molly's arm and turned‒to find Sherlock staring daggers at him from the door.

"You get your hands off her." Sherlock said darkly.

Neither John nor Molly had ever seen him like this before. John hurriedly went to face Sherlock. Not touching him he merely stood between Sherlock and Molly. He was still the warrior in the room and he would protect what needed to be protected. 

Lestrade knocked gently on the door and then let himself in. "Sorry I'm late, paperwork and all. But I probably made dessert ‒."

Sherlock growled. He actually growled and lunged at Lestrade, but John was like an immovable object and held him still.

"What are you doing here Lestrade," Sherlock barked?

"He was invited if you'd actually had taken time to come to dinner at your own home you would have known that." John said calmly. He gripped Sherlock's forearms. "What's the matter with you Sherlock? This isn't like you at all. What's got you so worked up?"

Molly was in shock, this was not her Sherlock. "Come in Greg, I've saved a plate for you and Sherlock. Do you think you can eat something love?" Molly asked Sherlock.

She was so beautiful, so loving and Sherlock knew he was being such an ass. Why? He hung his head and took a deep breath. Then he started to collapse, but luckily John had a good grip on him and pulled an arm over his shoulder to take Sherlock's weight and moved him gently to the couch.

"Lestrade, can you get my medical bag it's under the stairs? Molly get one of those protein shakes from the cupboard, please."

Everyone preformed their assigned task. "You probably haven't had a thing to eat. What do you have to say for yourself Sherlock? This isn't you. You can be god awful brilliant and a bloody great pain in the arse, but this isn't you."

Sherlock rolled onto the couch, wrapping himself in his Belstaff as if it was a bullet, brain and emotion proof shield that would protect him from everything and everyone.

(-_-)

After a difficult examination, John declared that Sherlock was just suffering from low blood sugar and a raging case of insecurity. He was still lying on the couch doing his best to ignore everyone.

"John, why don't you go heat up Greg's dinner and you and he can stay in the kitchen a while, just close the door. I'm going to see if I can get 'Himself' to eat something." They both retreated to the kitchen at her request.

Molly sat on the coffee table with Sherlock's dinner at her side. Gently she plucked at his Belstaff. "Love, come here love, I've got some food for you. You need to eat."

He resisted at first then slowly turned. The pain in his eyes was torture for her to see. She remained silent. Taking a small bit of food in her hand she brought it to his lips. Her face was full of love. She slipped the morsel into his mouth and smiled happily. He took the food, swallowed and then gripped her hand kissing the tips with so much adoration. His eyes were overwhelmed with the a hint of tears forming at the corners of his gorgeous eyes.

"Oh, Molly – I'm in such pain. I don't know what to do to make it go away."

"Where are you hurt Sherlock?" She began to pull away the Belstaff and look beneath.

He stopped her and grasped her hand in his, bringing it to his heart. "Here, Molly, right here. Help me, please."

She realized the problem. "Let me make it all better," she said soothingly as she lay her head upon his beleaguered heart. "I'm right here and I love you so very much. You know that don't you, you can feel that? I have loved you so very long and now I've got you, nothing and no one is ever going to make me leave your side." Lifting her head she stared into those eyes, those eyes that changed color from blue/grey to gold flecked to an unbelievable sea green. Those eyes were filled with longing, loss and a pain that was truly self-inflicted. She wiped the gathering tears away with the brush of her hand over his soft skin.

"Sherlock Holmes, you are the center of my world. And if I have tie you to your bed and make love to you for the rest of your natural life to prove it to you, I will." She began undressing him right there and then. Her determination and resolve shone in her soft brown eyes; eyes that Sherlock could get lost in, could stare at for hours and days — for a life time.

Sherlock crushed her to his breast, he trembled ever so slightly. "Yes, Molly, please yes."

Molly gathered Sherlock up. She handed him the protein shake that John was going to use as back up if Sherlock couldn't get food down. "You drink this right up."

She stood and opened the door to the kitchen. "I'm going to put Sherlock to bed and stay with him. I think he's has had some unexpected emotional 'things' to sort through and some quiet time will help. Good night Greg. John, I'll see you in the morning."

Greg and John understood and nodded in agreement.

"Sure you don't need any help?" John offered.

"We'll be okay, but if I need anything ‒ ."

"I'll be up in my room." Steadfast John said. Molly loved him to pieces.

Heading for the living room, she noticed that Sherlock had abandoned the couch and was making his way to the bedroom. Quickly and with quiet efficiency she disrobed him and threw back the covers before settling him into the bed. Shedding her own clothes she slipped in beside him.

"There's rope in the closet on the second hanger from the left end." Sherlock said in a self deprecating tone.

"You have to feel better before I make good on my claim," She turned his face to hers and kissed him with an enduring passion.

He knew she would be kissing him in their long decades together. There was no doubt in his mind or heart now. Not with her beside him. How could he ever have doubted her compassionate heart? Maybe it was his own heart he shouldn't believe in. How could he have ever been so lucky to earn the love of this proud, intelligent, strong and wise woman? Someone he'd dismissed most of the time they had known each other. He was the black heart here. He was the false face. He buried his head into the soft comfort of her breasts and closed his eyes to the world that he had created in his mind. The one where his best friends and only lover have betrayed him for what? Their good hearts could not be faulted. He fell into a calm and effortless sleep, held in the strong and compassionate arms of love.

(-_-)

He awoke to find his lover beaming at him.

"I do believe that you are exhibiting penile tumescence, my dear. Do you want to hit the loo before we look into resolving this condition?"

Sherlock hit the loo and when he came back to bed Molly had retrieved the rope from the closet. There was such playfulness in her eyes and a wicked smile upon her lips.

(-_-)

Molly seemed to have sorted Sherlock out and things went back to the bloody strange life of Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock and Molly couldn't hide their little secret. John was aware that love had triumphed. They were always giving those side long looks at each other. And they could hardly wait for bed time to roll around; at least at Baker Street. And when Sherlock stayed at Molly's, he always came back with these unnatural smiles on his face that took hours and hours to wear off.

At the morgue, John corralled Molly and chatted her up about it.

"So have you found his magic button or something? I've never seen him so delightfully happy?" John waited for her to divulge her secret.

"Well, let's just say that I've been able to completely delete any negativity that might have been swirling around his feelings about Greg, you and me."

"That's a good thing." John wanted to go no further down the road on that subject. "How are plans going on our special 'thing'?"

"Greg has finished his part. How are you doing on your section?"

"All in hand, we are prepared for any contingency and all lights are green." John said with good humor in his eyes. This had been a stressful project, but one that he would never have given away to anyone else.

(-_-)

'Possible double homicide. Blakeweather Hall. Will you come?' GL

'John is helping Mrs. Hudson with some remodeling decisions, will return in an hour. Can it wait?' SH

'Anderson is on his way.' GL

'Shite. Text me and John the address. Will be there as soon as possible.' SH

Blakeweather Hall was a fair distance out of town and Sherlock wondered if he should have asked Lestrade for a police car to stop by and pick him up. John would not be happy that they had to pay for two taxi to get to the same destination.

Sherlock arrived and paid the taxi. He walked up to the rather imposing Victorian pile that was, no doubt, a historical site. Sherlock knocked at the door and an elderly gentleman opened it and escorted him into foyer.

"I'm here to investigate the crime scene. Where is Detective Inspector Lestrade?"

The old man took him to a pair of double doors and opened them wide.

Hundreds of people standing on the other side yelled 'Surprise!'

Molly, Lestrade, John and Mrs. Hudson come out of the crowd to embrace him. Sherlock could see Yarders everywhere, people from his Homeless Network and faces from his hacker network Serpents Tooth, plus an army of former clients and well wishers of every age, ethnicity and social standing. To say that Sherlock was surprised would be an understatement. He observed that a large contingency of the Holmes family was also there, including Mycroft.

"It's not my birthday or any other occasion that I'm aware of. So to what do I owe the pleasure of everyone's company?"

Molly came to his side and took his hand. "It's our engagement party, love. You said you didn't want to be involved in the mundane arrangement of socially structured rituals as I recall."

He looked down into her beaming face. "How could I have been so terribly wrong?"

Sherlock was duly surprised, and let's face it: it took a lot of planning and interaction on the part of his friends and his rather posh family to do this one up right. But with the motivation and determination of his many friends and his beautiful bride to be, it was one of THE most excellent event of their life time. It went on for an indeterminate amount of time and everyone was thoroughly happy, plied with food, drink and eventually bussed back to their homes back in London.

As the day turned into one of the finest nights on the planet, John turned to Lestrade and said, "It was worth it. I know we almost bloody well cocked it up there in the morgue. But in the end it was all worth it. A day to remember, an occasion to live with in memory and the photos of Sherlock dancing with 40 women at once will have to go on the blog." They both laugh.

"And if ever we want to fake Sherlock out. Now we know we can do it, we just have to gang up on him and do it all together," Greg said with a grin.

"Safety in numbers. Yes, a good thing to know. Though I doubt we will ever have to do that again. I think next time Molly asks him for his input, he will give it willingly, lovingly." John looked to Sherlock and Molly as they slow danced to the single violinist who was playing their song. It was a nocturne soft and sweet. John can't remember the name of it. He would have to ask later, but not now. Now was their time and Sherlock was holding the woman he loved with incredible tenderness and affection. Molly was his life.

John and Greg lifted their drinks to clink a final toast.

John said: "To the only consulting detective and the doctor of forensic medicine. May this be the beginning of a long life of murder, mayhem and enduring love."

Greg clinked glasses with John.

"A consulting detective, a physician, a forensics' pathologist and a detective inspector walk into a bar." Lestrade began his naughty joke.

Far off in a coroner of the hall two people were still dancing. There was only the music in Sherlock's heart that played. He hummed in Molly's ear so she could hear his melody of love.

"Molly, I am so sorry that it took so long to find you. To see you. I feel sad that we spent years going round in circles instead of meeting in the middle of things."

"Ta, love. We're here now that's everything. I do think we should thank John for all he has done. He is more than just our best friend. He was the reason I had the courage to come forward. What can we do to thank him?" Molly asked.

"He's a part of our lives. I want him to remain so. I'd like to fix up the flat at 221C so that he can always be close."

"Great minds think so much alike," Molly said grinning like the Cheshire cat."

Sherlock was taken by surprise. This mind ‒ blowing woman could read his mind.

"Mrs. Hudson and I have been fixing up 221C since the engagement. While we were at the party we had bonded movers bring John's stuff downstairs. It's all been taken care of."

"You never cease to amaze, soon – to – be Missus Holmes."

"That's soon – to – be Doctor Missus Holmes," Molly said stealing a kiss. She could feel a sturdy part of Sherlock's anatomy pressing into her and she very much wanted to find a horizontal place to take advantage of the situation.

Sherlock was way ahead of her, and lifted her diminutive form in a bridal carry as he rushed from the large ballroom to find a smaller, more intimate venue.

"Shall we wait for them?" Greg asked John.

"No," John smiled. "He's nothing if not thorough and that takes a long time." They exchanged a knowing glance and headed out together into the dark night.

Somewhere, Molly was being thoroughly investigated and was loving the hell out of every minute of it.


End file.
